


Idiots

by SeeEmRunning



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - High School, Competent!Sam is the best Sam, Gen, High School, Pre-Series, School, School Shootings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-25
Updated: 2013-08-25
Packaged: 2017-12-24 14:13:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/940939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SeeEmRunning/pseuds/SeeEmRunning
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An armed group takes over Sam's school. What ensues is nobody's idea of a good time.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. School

**Author's Note:**

> Ugh, this one turned out weird. I like it anyway.

The first hint Sam got that this wouldn't be a normal day came when his teacher's head was blown apart, spattering him with blood, brain, and skull fragments.

There were a few seconds of stunned silence while they all tried to put together what had just happened before the screaming began. Sam was still gaping at the man's headless body when he heard a bellowed, "Quiet!"

Sam snapped out of his trance, his father's lesson on being captured playing through his mind. _Don't panic. Look for weaknesses. Don't take stupid chances. Gather information. Don't draw attention. Call me._

Well, calling him was out of the question, and even if it wasn't, he was five states away with Dean. This one was on Sam and Sam alone. Not drawing attention was out of the question now that he was covered with Mr. Jinsen's head, but he could try to avoid being a troublemaker. He'd need to get more information before he could look for weaknesses in order to avoid doing something stupid.

"Now," the gunman continued, "form a single-file line behind your classmate here. We're going on a walk."

Being so close to him gave Sam a chance to observe more. He beat back his panic and surreptitiously examined the man with wide eyes, knowing he needed to look afraid or he would draw unwanted attention. It wasn't that hard to pull off, since he was pants-pissingly terrified. 

Young 20s, dark hair, green eyes, pale skin, fit. Assault rifle slung over his shoulder, walkie-talkie clipped to his belt. Well-equipped, not alone. He hadn't opened fire on anyone but the teacher yet and he was moving them, which meant there was a bigger plan and he'd only killed the teacher to get their attention and scare them into behaving. Someone was a target.

The problem was, Sam didn't know who. They might be in his class, they might be in another one. If he knew, he could come up with a plan, but until then-

"Stop walking, you little shit," the man growled, grabbing his shoulder. Sam winced at the bruising grip. "Inside." He gestured with the gun, and Sam realized they were outside the band room.

There were a few dozen students and three other men already there. The students were huddled on the floor; there was a man on each door. Sam's class was escorted to the east wall to sit. Keeping a sharp eye on the captors, careful to keep up the mask of his fear, he noticed that they were arguing. Dissension in the ranks - Sam could use that if he was smart and didn't give in to the panic clawing at his throat. 

There were too many kids around him, too many guns in play for his comfort, and no backup coming. His biggest advantage was that they hadn't searched him - why would they bother? - so he still had two hunting knives, a boot knife, a .45 at the small of his back, and a switchblade. He'd bitched about the armament rules when his dad had put them in place, but eventually he'd gotten used to them and didn't mind their weight, even if it made dressing out for PE awkward.

The argument was winding down. Two of the men scowled and took up positions near the doors; the other two, including the one that had shot Sam's teacher, left the room.

Sam's mind ticked steadily amidst the growing whispers around him. His first priority was to get as many students as possible out of the school, a goal encouraged by the knowledge that one of the doors in the band room led outside; nobody wanted a loud class in the middle of a school. His second was to find the other groups of students, because this room didn’t hold all of them, not by a long shot. His third was to figure out how many intruders there were, what they wanted, and how to prevent it, out of spite if nothing else.

He wondered how he could get the men close enough to deal with. He didn't want to shoot them, not when the noise would bring more running; getting himself killed this early would be a terrible strategic move. They needed to get close enough for him to stab them or, preferably, slit their throats.

Sam was poked in the side. He turned to look at the girl beside him - Marissa? Melissa? He'd only been in the school three days, he didn't know everyone's name - keeping his movements small and smooth. She handed him a piece of paper, eyes wide and watery, and he took it. The writing was harsh and spiky, so the girl hadn't been the one to write it.

_If we rush them all at the same time, we can take them._

Sam looked at Marissa and shook his head, then mimed writing. She handed him a pencil from her pocket and he scribbled, _It'll only bring the attention of all the others. There are at least five more. WAIT,_ before he handed it back. "Pass it back to whichever idiot wrote this," he whispered.

The paper had made it five people down before the men noticed. "What's this, then?" one yelled, coming over. Sam dubbed him Pudgy in his own head.

The other one snatched the page and scanned it. "Looks like we got ourselves a hero," he said sarcastically. His arms showed the result of too much time working in the gym and not enough time actually fighting. "But one of you has sense, at least."

Sam reached slowly for one of his hunting knives. If they were going to hurt one of his classmates, he'd have to take action.

"Was it you?" Muscles asked, moving down the line. "Or you?" He shook the paper to make a point. He stopped in front of Sam. "Was it you?"

Pudgy grabbed his collar and tugged him upward. "I think it was."

Sam couldn't believe his luck. He tuned out the rest of the monologue and instead got a secure grip on his knife, sliding it slowly out of its sheath and preparing for action.

When Pudgy let go of his shirt, drawing back to throw a punch, Sam drew the knife entirely. A quick slash across the carotid and the man went down; Sam aimed for the jugular of the other. The element of surprise was on his side, and blood sprayed across his face as Muscles went down without a word. 

"Everyone stay calm," he ordered before the screaming could start, wiping the knife off on his shirt and resheathing it. "Quiet, don't draw attention to us. One of these doors leads outside, right?" Marissa nodded, eyes wide. "Take it. Go slow, hands up, in case the police are already here. If they're not, Marissa, you call 911. Nobody else, it's no use tying up all the emergency lines."

"What are you going to do?" one of the kids asked, brown eyes wide.

"I'm turning sapper," Sam said. "Snipe the perimeter guards, get the other kids out."

"How? You gonna stab 'em?"

"Don't need to." Sam hefted Pudgy's rifle and took a second to familiarize himself with where the safety, clip release, and bolt were before sighting down the barrel at a window. "This'll do. Now, go. Remember, slow, hands up, Marissa's the only one who calls."

They left, quicker than Sam would have liked but slower than a dead run, which might be the best he could hope for. He pulled the clip from Muscles' rifle and disassembled it quickly, scattering the pieces around the room. Someone could put it back together, but it was unlikely. The extra clip went in his pocket, next to his other knife. A quick glance showed him the room was clear but for him, and he blew out a breath.

Where else would they be holding students? The gym, the cafeteria? Too many variables, and Sam-

Could hear voices and the pattering of feet.

He slid next to the entrance and readied the knife. The way the door opened, he'd be shielded from view. He could come up from behind, use the element of surprise.

Unlike his own guard, this one came in first. "The hell?" he breathed, taking two steps into the room. Sam slipped out and, since the man was a good foot taller than him, went for the heart instead of the neck. He caught him as he fell and turned him on his side against the wall so the students - sixth-graders, Sam guessed from their size, the school district was small enough grades six through twelve were in the same building - didn't have to see the wounds. He gestured them in, finger over his mouth in a shushing gesture.

"Out that door, get outside," he whispered over and over. "Slow, quiet, hands up. One of my friends is already calling the police….out that door, get outside, slow, quiet, hands up…."

When they were all gone, Sam sighed. It didn't really matter that they had been holding guns on them; they were still human. His first kill had been a shifter, an accident. He'd been in the car, things had gone poorly, and he'd been attacked. It was wearing a twelve-year-old boy, maybe three years older than Sam had been at the time. That night he'd climbed into Dean's bed and clung like an octopus, and Dean had just made room for him, no teasing, which was unlike him.

But these weren't shifters. These were just humans. Armed, dangerous humans who might be willing to kill children, but still, humans. Three in twenty minutes.

 _Get it together, freak out later,_ he told himself. There were still hundreds of kids in the school and at least two armed men running around, probably more. Sam needed to stave off the panicking until later, when lives didn't depend on his actions.

The PA crackled to life. "Attention everyone. All of the students have now been subdued. Your teachers are under control. My men are patrolling the grounds. You can not escape. Please do not try."

Well, that answered that question. Sam hurriedly pulled up his mental map of the school. He'd need at least twelve men to reasonably expect to control the entire building. Three of them were dead in the room. That left at least nine. Nine people to cover the school - they'd be spread thin. They'd know soon that the three were dead, if they didn't already. If they were particularly stupid, they might even send people to investigate.

The school was designed as a blocky 'S', so if Sam was careful, he could theoretically clear the school without worrying about being caught between the men - unless they sent someone around the back when they knew he was there.

"Simpson, Marker, report," crackled over the walkies, and Sam picked one up to listen in.

"Quiet in cafeteria."

"Jones, Mayberry."

"Teachers under control in lounge."

"Matthews, Lodgins, Demper."

"Small problems in the gym, but they've been handled."

"Omps."

No response. Omps must be one of the men in the room with him.

"Omps, are you in position?"

Sam didn't answer. His voice was still far too high to pass for an adult's.

"Gussner?"

Again, no answer.

"Frederick?"

Silence.

"Damn it. Marker, Matthews, get their asses in gear."

Two more headed to the band room, and they'd be expecting trouble. Sam glanced around quickly. He could hide in a locker, but that would box him in. Not that it would really matter, but there was always a chance the rifle would jam, and then he'd be in real trouble. But if he got on top of the locker bank and pulled that box of stuff over to hide him, he could snipe them when they came in. Human nature dictated they'd see the bodies and rush in to check on their comrades. He shimmied up to the top of the lockers and slid behind the cardboard; it wouldn't stop a bullet, but it would keep them from seeing him, which was really all he needed.

While he waited, he thought. Really, he was lucky they were stupid enough to broadcast their plans. The order in which they'd reported told him they were holding students in the gym and cafeteria and the teachers in their lounge with a total of seven guards. There would be at least one more in the main office. If Sam was in charge, he'd have someone on the roof as a sentry (which was something he should have considered before sending his classmates out, he realized belatedly), but after that exchange over the walkies, he didn't think they were smart enough for that.

He just had to hope that picking them off wouldn't encourage them to start killing. He decided that after he got these two out of the way, he'd start making his way through the school, getting students out where he could. He also decided he wouldn't go for the kill shot. Maybe he could get one of them to talk; even if he couldn't, killing people repulsed him. Disabling would do fine, now that there weren't kids involved.

Just as he'd thought, they opened the door slowly, only to run in fast when they saw their friends on the floor. Sam opened fire, strafing across their knees. They both dropped their guns as their legs folded beneath them. One of them reached for his radio even as he bellowed in pain.

Sam lowered himself to the ground and scurried to their sides, kicking their guns away and grabbing their radios. "Nope," he growled, dropping to his knees on one man's chest. "You don't get to come in to _my_ school, kill _my_ teachers, and scare _my_ classmates. Why?"

The man swore and grabbed at his leg. Sam stabbed his shoulder. He screamed once before losing consciousness.

Sam switched to sit on the other one. "What about you? You going to tell me what you're after?"

"We're just making a statement," he whimpered.

"What statement?" Sam growled.

"They're destroying the world," he gasped.

Sam blinked. "And taking over a school is a way to make a statement about that?"

"It'll bring attention."

Sam scowled. "You really are idiots."

"What?"

Sam punched him, hard enough to knock him out, and glanced around. There were yards of cord coiled neatly against the wall. Sam guessed they were for lining the field; he'd overheard some people complaining about how the football team was awful at marking the lines properly the day before. He repurposed them as restraints, tying them across the room from each other with knots they wouldn’t be able to undo without help.

He checked his watch. It had been only an hour since Mr. Jinsen had been spattered on him. They hadn't started killing people yet. But now there were three bodies and two unconscious men, five down, and they were going to start getting desperate. Although if this was just to draw attention, they may balk at actually hurting anyone.

Sam couldn't count on that being the case after the first man's headshot. He'd need to be fast. He took apart the guns the same way he'd dismantled the other two. One of the clips went into his pocket next to the other two, stretching the denim past the point of comfort; the other he switched out for the empty one in the rifle, which he again slung on his back.

All the radios were piled in the middle of the room save one, which Sam clipped onto his belt before he left the room, checking down the hallway first. He crept to the end and peered around; there was one man on the door to the gym.

Who spotted him.

The man shouted and swung the gun around. Sam ducked back behind the corner as a hail of bullets rained down upon him, shredding the wall and ricocheting off the lockers.

He heard a clip hit the ground and took a chance, kneeling down and aiming around the corner at the man. He took the shot and the man dropped, blood oozing from the newly-formed hole between his eyes. Sam spared a second to regret the death, but only a moment; he couldn't afford any more, not with hundreds of lives at stake. There was one man still in the room; maybe he would come out….

No. He was inside with a lot of potential shields. He had to know his buddies were getting picked off, he wouldn't give up his protection that easily.

So Sam was going to have to go in and take him down, avoiding the other kids in the way. Yeah. That would be easy.

He took a deep breath and stalked down the hall, daring a quick glance inside. He didn't see the man anywhere.

The reason, he soon learned, was because he'd been just inside the door, waiting to swing it out and knock Sam on his ass. The rifle skittered across the hallway; Sam's head hit the floor hard enough to make him see stars. The man straddled his hips-

No, the _woman_ straddled his hips. Well, that explained why she had more foresight than the others. She punched his cheek, and he grunted, clawing at her face with his left hand, obstructing her vision so she couldn't see his right digging in for his hunting knife. He got two fingers in her nose and pulled up as hard as he could at such an awkward angle. She shrieked and dug her nails into his arm.

He got his knife out of the sheath again, angled it, and shoved. It slid into her abdomen like butter, and she let out a choking, whining scream before she collapsed on top of him. He grunted and tried to shove her off, but she was too heavy.

Oh, God, her blood was leaking out onto him, soaking him even more, mixing with Jinsen's and Pudgy's and Muscles'. So much death today, some of which was because of him. _Most_ of which was become of him. He was going to die here, they were going to come check on Lodgins and Demper any second now and he'd be caught and killed, maybe shot, and there was just so much blood-

Someone rolled the woman off him. Looking up, panting, he saw two boys he vaguely recognized as seniors. "You okay?" one asked, offering him a hand up.

"Yeah," he said, breathing deeply and taking it. "Yeah, I'm good. Listen to me, the building's clear back to the band room. Get them out. Go slow, hands up, so the police know not to shoot. How many are in there?" He wiped blood from his eye and tried to clean the knife on his blood-soaked jeans.

"All the upperclassmen and a few dozen sophomores," the one who hadn't helped him up said.

"Good," Sam said vaguely, "good. Listen. In the band room, there are three dead and two tied against the wall. Ignore them." He caught sight of movement behind them and pulled the .45, the rifle was too far away, and he shoved the boys down with his left hand even as he shot with his right. A spray of blood, not enough to be fatal, Sam had only winged him as he struggled to pull his gun around.

Sam swore. "Change of plans. There's someone else coming, probably more than one, they're such idiots. Get back inside, keep everyone calm, I'll tell you when it's safe to come out." He pulled his knife back out in his left hand. "Go. I can't be worrying about you guys, too. _Down!_ " He dropped to the ground when he saw a barrel around the corner, but he wasn't fast enough. A searing pain appeared in his left arm, and he dropped the knife. "Inside! Quickly!" he hissed, yanking open the door as a pathetic sort of cover. They hurried inside.

Sam slammed the door behind them. "Shit," he breathed. "Shit shit shit shit shit."

"Lodgins, Demper, report," crackled over his walkie.

"Both down," a different voice reported. "Lodgins shot in the head, Demper's been stabbed in the belly."

"Maybe we should get out now," someone else said.

Sam glanced around. The gym had windows large enough for someone to crawl out of, if they wanted to. Sam blinked at them. "Hey. Smash the windows. You can get out that way."

"But what if-" a small brunette started.

"Nobody's coming," Sam interrupted. "I've killed five of them already, they're not going to test me without a good reason, even if they're not entirely sure who I am. They've already written off this room as a loss."

"Who are you?" one of the ones from the hallway asked.

Sam peeled fabric away from the wound and winced. "Shit," he breathed. "It's still in there. I'm Sam Winchester, transferred a few days ago."

"How old are you?" someone asked. They heard the crunching of safety glass being hit very, very hard.

"Use your elbow," Sam called. "Strongest part of your body. Or a chair. I'm fourteen."

"There aren't any chairs in here," one of the kids working on a window called back.

"You're fourteen?" one of the people from the hallway blurted.

"Yes. Is that really the most important thing right now?" Sam finished peeling off his jacket and overshirt. "Fuck that hurts."

"Is that blood?"

"No shit." Sam palpated his shoulder, fighting not to cry. "I slit two throats and stabbed someone through the heart and I've been shot, I'm going to be a little messy."

Just then, the window shattered. "Okay," Sam called. "Go slow, hands up. Police should be here by now." He tied his jacket into a makeshift sling and thumbed his pistol. "There's another group of students in the cafeteria and the teachers are in their lounge-"

Gunfire splintered the door. _Idiots,_ Sam thought yet again. The doors weren't blocked; they easily could have opened them before firing. All they were doing now was wasting ammunition.

Screams joined the commotion and Sam scowled. "Just calm down," he muttered irritably. "We're not dead yet."

"Yet?" someone asked, voice going up an octave on that syllable alone.

Sam scowled. "They're going to run out the clip soon. Keep evacuating."

"You can't go back out there," one of the guys from hallway said. "You're hurt!"

"Well, I'm also not dead," Sam said bluntly. He glanced back at the windows and got a shock - men in black SWAT helmets were working on breaking the ones that were still intact. There were more helping to pull others through the windows that were already broken.

Sam smiled. "Took them long enough. Go with them." He brought the pistol up to the ready position. "I'll deal with this asshole."

He listened as the room slowly emptied, occasionally throwing quick glances over his shoulder. As more people left, his hopes rose. Maybe he could get these people out….

He was suddenly aware the gun was pointing at the floor and he was shaking. He pulled the .45 back to be level once again; it was much more difficult than it had any right to be.

There were only thirty of them left in the room when the man finally got with the program enough to pull open the door. Sam fired almost blindly, hoping it wouldn't be a kill shot, and hit him in the shoulder; concussed, weak from blood loss, and shooting one-handed, it was hard to control the recoil. His target's gun went off, the bullet grazing the insides of Sam's thighs. He swore, legs buckling, and fell to the floor. He forced himself into a sitting position and took aim again, only to see a spot of red blossom on the man's chest. Sam hadn't shot him, which meant someone else had a gun-

He was an idiot. There were SWAT agents at the windows. Of course they'd be armed; they probably hadn't reacted as quickly as Sam had the first time because there were students in the way and they had their hands full.

Sam's hand dropped to the floor, followed by the rest of him. The gun was too heavy. His head was a leaden weight. His clothes felt like they weighed fifty pounds - and with how much blood they'd soaked up, that was a distinct possibility. The room was getting dark - maybe they'd cut the power?

There were hands on him, pulling him, and a voice in his ear. "Come on, man, come on, get up, Sam, come on, we're getting you out."

"The bodies," he slurred. "In the band room. And they're tied. Building's clear back to there, there's one at the teachers and one in the cafeteria."

"Okay, Sam, okay. We'll tell them. Better yet, you tell them. Hey!" The voice suddenly rose in volume. "Get him out next, he's hurt bad."

"What happened?" an adult's voice asked, deeper than the one who'd been speaking to him.

"He's the one who got everyone out. He's been beaten a bit and shot twice."

"Bullet's still in my shoulder," he managed.

"He says the bullet's still in his shoulder."

"What about his legs?"

"Jus' a graze." More hands grabbed him and started pulling. He bit his lip and scrunched his eyes together, forcing back the tears of pain. What was it he had to tell them? "One guard in the cafeteria, one with the teachers in the lounge."

"How do you know?" 

"They're not too bright." Sam risked opening his eyes and blinked lazily. "Reeled off their whole roster over the radios." He fumbled with the one at his belt before his hand decided to stop obeying him and dropped to dangle beneath him.

The man who had pulled him out seemed to realize he couldn't stand on his own. "Jenkins, take over this window," he ordered, hoisting Sam. "You're pretty light. What's your name, kid?"

"Sam." He blinked again and slurred, "Why are you spinning?"

"I'm not. Did you hit your head?"

Sam tried to remember. "I think? The door hit me pretty hard."

"That what happened to your face?"

"No. That was the girl."

"What girl?"

"One of the guards." Was it getting cloudier? It was a lot darker now than it had been a moment ago.

"Sam, I need you to stay with me," he heard right before the darkness swamped him entirely.


	2. Hospital

A steady beeping woke him. He shifted, trying to find a comfortable position, and someone said, "Hey, kid."

His eyes snapped open - as much as they could snap with what Sam recognized as a painkiller fugue - and he saw a doctor standing over him.

"Thought you'd be waking up soon," the man said. "We need to get in touch with your parents, but no body's picking up at your home."

"Dad and Dean are on a business trip," Sam said tiredly. "What time is it?"

"A little after five. You've already been through surgery to get the bullet from your shoulder, which was dislocated."

He tried to remember what to ask after an operation. "Fever?"

"A small one. Normal for post-op."

"Any complications?"

"Nothing to worry about. You get surgery a lot?"

"Had my tonsils out when I was younger. Equipment wasn't sterilized properly and I spent two weeks in the hospital." His dad had bitched the whole time about insurance possibly not holding. "What about the graze on my legs?"

"Minor. You needed six stitches on your left thigh and five on your right. What do you remember about what happened?"

"Everything," he said quietly, thinking about brain spatter on his face and the feel of a sharp knife sliding through the back side of a man's ribs. "What happened to everyone else?"

"They're all fine," the doctor said soothingly. "Thanks in large part to you, I'm told. When they realized half their people were dead or tied up, they surrendered pretty quickly. Apparently the police neglected to mention you were out of the school."

Sam winced at the word 'dead'. "I killed them," he said quietly.

"Last I heard, you weren't going to be charged with anything," the doctor told him kindly. "You were defending yourself and your classmates."

"Doesn't matter. I killed them." His heart twisted and he swallowed heavily.

"Nausea?"

"A little," he said. "I don't think I've eaten today, though."

"Why not?"

"I don't usually eat breakfast," Sam said, "and we were attacked before lunch. Look, is there a phone I can use? I really want to call my dad." He really wanted to talk to Dean, actually, but he had enough sense to ask for a parent before a brother, even as drugged as he was.

"Yeah. I don't want you walking yet, not with the wounds on your thighs, but there's a phone at the nurse's station you can use. You've also got a mild concussion."

"Figured that, got slammed into the floor pretty hard." Sam sat up and rolled his right shoulder; his left, he belatedly realized, was immobilized in a sling. A series of cracks ran down his spine.

"Let me get a wheelchair." The doctor disappeared.

He reappeared less than a minute later, before Sam's thoughts could spiral in on him, carting a chair and an orderly. "Good thing we don't have you on an IV anymore," he said cheerfully. "It would be kind of difficult to get you there if we had a stand to worry about."

Sam blinked. "Don't they have wheels?"

"Some of them." The orderly leaned over and helped him transfer his weight from the bed to the chair. "C'mon, kid, let's get you a phone."

His dad picked up on the third ring. "Singer, you got that info yet?" he growled.

"Uh, Dad, it's Sam."

"What did you do this time?"

Sam winced despite himself. "Uh, it's - it's kind of a long story. Um, some - some people attacked the school, and-"

"What do you mean, they attacked the school?" his dad interrupted.

"Some group, I don't even know why they did it yet, but they had semi-autos."

"What did you do?"

"Three dead and two incapacitated before I got hurt, two more dead afterward."

"Injury report?"

"Concussion, fractured collarbone from a bullet, thigh graze, blood loss. I lost consciousness back at the school. I'm in the hospital now."

There was a pause, then a sigh. "Dean and I can't come back, Sam, I'm sorry." He didn't sound all that apologetic, but Sam bit his tongue. "Dean's at the library now, or I'd put him on. Do I need to talk to anyone at the hospital?"

"Probably the doctor, permission to treat and all that."

"Can you put him on?"

Sam handed the phone over silently, quietly surprised the man had stayed with him. Then again, it was a small town; this was probably the most exciting thing to happen in years.

He went back to the hospital room and stared at the walls until he was released with strict care instructions, pretending he couldn’t see the pity in the nurses' eyes when they realized nobody was coming for him. Pretending he would ever forget the sour taste in his mouth when _he_ realized nobody was coming for him. Pretending he didn't see the men he'd killed when he closed his eyes. Pretending he wasn't panicking now that the situation was over.

Pretending the shame that swept over him like a tidal wave for killing the men and being too weak for his father to bother with just didn't exist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said in the beginning: this one got weird. Please review!


End file.
